


Had to be you

by UmaBaybee_vs_theWorld



Category: Death Note One Shot
Genre: Adia is Scottish, Buying people at auction, F/F, I don’t know a thing about buying houses/cars/etc., I’m new at tags, Slavery, Trauma, after it’s revealed people get money, don’t hurt me y’all, more characters to be introduced - Freeform, probably gonna butcher her accent but I’ll try my best, quaking lesbians, smut in some chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmaBaybee_vs_theWorld/pseuds/UmaBaybee_vs_theWorld
Summary: After it’s announced to the citizens of Japan that anyone with an account at Yotsuba bank will have a billion yen wired to there balances, everyone goes into a frenzy of buying assets for their personal gain. Luxury cars and sprawling houses are snatched up by everyday strangers, including by a very powerful business corporate, Addison Eiko. One day, her best freind asks her to go to an underground auction where all sorts of things are put up for bidding  begrudgingly, she accepts, not knowing that at said auction she would do something to change to course of her life.
Relationships: Addison/Adia, Addison/Fumiko, Fumiko/Adía





	1. Auction time

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here we are, my first ao3 fic I’ll try my hardest to update it accordingly and finish it, sorry in advance for any delays!

In the days sense the Death Note had been sold to the US, everyone in Japan who had a bank account with Yotsuba Bank was eagerly awaiting their share of the money that was promised to them on air at Sakura Station. Addison Eiko, however, was already a strong, capable woman who was currently climbing her way to the top in her field of work, so all she saw the money as was a way to inflame the economy and raise prices within due time.   
Although she did have an account with Yotsuba, and she wasn’t about to turn down free money, what was the point if the value would just keep getting lower and lower?  
It had only been a week and even she was beginning to hear rumors of dangerous things going on, illegal fighting, racing, betting, and auctions of all sorts reaching her ears, and she couldn’t even deny that she was curious.   
Her best freind in Japan, though, was the one who really dug and told her all about the underground society of Japan that was booming, and about what Addison had really taken an interest in: the auctions.   
“We should go to one, Isa! Me and you both.” Fumiko said, tying back her stubborn raven hair.   
Addison rolled her dark eyes and crossed her legs, leaning forward. “Really, Fumiko? Let’s think about that for a minute.” She set her phone next to her, it’s light going dull. “No one in Japan can even access the money until a couple of weeks, so how are we supposed to auction when we are basically no richer than we were a month ago?”  
Fumiko sat at attention, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Ignoring the fact that you bring home pretty decent paychecks every two weeks, you can always replace the money when you can access it. And we don’t even have to necessarily participate; we can just go for fun.”  
“Fumiko..” she sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Sometimes you are the most amazingly matured woman I’ve ever met and other times I can’t see how you’ve made it this long without me. They’d probably get suspicious if we enter and just—“ she jestured wildly before dropping her hands in her lap. “—don’t compete.”  
To her credit, Fumiko looked thoughtful before answering, looking for holes in her argument.   
“Nonsense! Plenty of people go and come back empty handed. Isa, you should see where they hold these auctions. Huge auditoriums are being rented out for these purposes.”  
“Your also forgetting,” Her eyes roamed over her freind before daring to the coffee maker that was visible through the open kitchen, and wondered if tea would help her win this argument. Going to an auction where anyone could buy anything was a bad idea. Why couldn’t she see that? “It’s also very illegal. Assuming that they’re selling what I’d be interested in,” she said offhandedly, and slid off the cream couch to pad into the kitchen, her bare feet meeting cold tile, and she played with the idea of buying an exotic toucan.   
But she wasn’t stupid; of course she’d never buy a wild animal. The only way they could ever be happy would be in the wild, where they could be free, be it bird or jungle cat, and she didn’t want to see any of them getting picked like they were paintings in a gallery without souls. Like they were simply objects.   
Although, her stance was waning...  
She’d be such a liar to say that she wasn’t interested greatly, and Fumiko saw that.   
They both knew how this talk would end.   
“Although, it would be interesting to see what their ethic is...” she mused aloud as she filled a coffee pot with water and put a tea bag in it.   
“Right?” Fumiko said, jumping for the rope that was extended. “Totally interesting. There are just some aspects that research can’t convey, and wouldn’t you like to know all you can?”  
“Fumi....” Addison groaned dramatically, turning around so she could see her intense eye roll. “Why do you want to go so bad?”  
“Because it piqued my interest and I know it piques yours!” And then she gave her the Fumiko Look, a look that no man, woman, or non-binary gender on earth could deny, and Addison was done for.   
How could Fumiko do this to her?  
Giving her the flattest industrialized look ever, she kicked a cabinet door in frustration.   
“Dammit! Fine, I’ll go. But only because I know you’ll just go without me and I don’t want anything to happen to you!” She spat, and began to aggressively dig in the fridge for something to eat while her best freind rejoiced, praising Kira for his work.   
Addison fought another eye roll. 

They arrived at a dank alleyway, piled up on the sides with trash spilling from dumpsters and the never ending smell of poverty that she knew all too well.   
Fumiko, who was a few inches shorter than her, was practically bouncing on that balls of her feet. She wore an inconspicuous black jacket with the hood drawn up over her raven hair, thick rimmed sunglasses sitting on the bridge of her nose.   
There wasn’t a thing about her that was noticeable, wich was what Addison was striving for. She herself wore a black trench coat with the hood up as well, black leather gloves and thigh high boots hiding any semblance of skin aside from her face. She also wore glasses, the lenses heavily tinted.   
She nodded, and they both started towards the dark end of the alley, her 3 1/5 inch heels clacking on the stone ground, and she made sure to stand up straight and assert herself just like she did in her meetings and when she faced someone of higher ranking than her.   
The walk took less that a minute, and they soon came upon a very shady man sitting on a garbage can, also wearing a nondescript jacket, zipped up all the way to his neck where colorful tattoos managed to peak through.   
There was a scary long scar on his right cheek, almost reaching his eye, when he smiled, and Addison couldn’t help but be wary as the red flags shot up.   
Everything about this place screamed ‘rape,’ and she was sure that man had more muscle than he was showing.   
“What can I do you ladies for?” He said, not unkindly, but it did nothing to curb her trepidation, and she stood up taller as he addressed him, not in a challenging manor, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t to try anything.   
“Pancakes.” She spoke, clear and strong. “We’re looking for pancakes.”  
Although it felt dismal to announce such a thing like she was stating without a doubt that she would die for her country, she tried not to let it show on her face as he sized them both up.   
She tensed as he got up, and saw they were about the same height, somewhere around 5’11. Her nervousness spiked at this; she had never encountered someone who she couldn’t intimidate with her height, especially in Japan, but she soon saw her nervousness was unwarranted.   
He opened a rusty door that looked like it was two seconds from falling off its hinges, and stepped back.   
She peeked inside and saw a dark hallway, not the longest one she’d ever seen, but long enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck raise. The fact that this place was shady was a no-brainer, what with the powerful stench of urine clouding the hall and the black mold growing on the walls. She gave the dank thug a sidelong glance, and he must have seen the unease on her face despite her glasses, because he said, “There’s no point in being nervous. Every person that has gone in there came out with something.”  
She squinted her eyes behind the lenses, not sure if that was supposed to be comforting, but with a firm tug on her sleeve from Fumiko, she surrendered herself to the hallway, all light seeping from it when the door shut behind them with a resounding clang.   
“If we die here,” she said in a hushed tone, grabbing hold of her companion’s arm. “It’s your fault and I’m going to haunt the shit out of you.”  
And with that, they set off into a very badly-smelling building, where Addison used the glare from her phone screen to guide them to another door, this one thick and sturdy, and she reached forward and knocked firmly.   
A few seconds passed before she heard metal sliding on metal, but otherwise nothing happened.   
Until Fumiko nudged her and gestured at the door, wich she shined the light on. And there, just like in the movies, was a pair of eyes peering at them from through a slat, and she instinctively stepped back.   
“What are you here for?” A gruff voice asked from behind the door, his words muffled.   
“We’re here for an auction,” Fumiko said firmly, and Addison resisted the urge to pat her in the back. At least her freind was taking it better than she was.   
Another second went past when the slat slid shut and the door began to open. It was quiet huge, really.   
In the frame, a very burly man with an incredibly thick beard stood, tall and imposing, his thick, meaty arms crossed over his chest, absolutely covered in tattoos that bleed into another.   
She narrowed her eyes as he held up two black cloth surgeons masks by the strings. Fumiko reaches forward and took them, giving one to Addison for her to fasten around her jaw, obstructing her lower face from view. She suppressed it made sense. No one wanted to be seen doing illegal activities.   
Why was she here again?  
The man stepped back and gestured to a duly lit but marginally cleaner hallway that was lined with carpet, stepping out of the way so they could pass.   
Addison took the lead as he uttered, “Enjoy the show,” and held Fumiko’s hand as they walked down yet another hallway, coming up on mahogany double doors with ornate knobs of crystal.   
Taking a deep breath, the business corporate opened the doors into—  
“Holy shit,” she breathed, her eyes wide behind the tinted lenses of her sunglasses, completely taken aback by the venue.   
What she expected was a tiny wannabe stage and a bunch of cold fold up chairs, the audience packed in the room and the air hot with body heat. What she got instead made even Fumiko gasp shortly through her mask. The room was wide and sprawling, with many mystery people going to check in and then congregating with complete strangers about their previous buys and what they were possibly looking for this time, like this wasn’t an illegal club for buying very illegal things. This was uniform. Everyone in the hall wore black and had on the same masks that she and Fumiko were given at the door, most of them carrying signs with numbers on them.  
Addison could practically feel the carpet through her boots, her heels making no sound as she walked towards a line with a sign marking it as sign in. The room was lit just well enough to see where you were going, and she was miffed to observe that they even had a buffet table lined with fruits and confectionaries, and they made her mouth water. The place was no Carnegie hall, but it was far bigger and grander than she ever expected, even spotting opulent fairy lights lining the rows of chairs like vines.   
The line she was in moved fairly quickly, and soon she and Fumiko were at the head, facing a table where disguised personnel sat, with the trademark masks that everyone had been given.   
“Name?” They asked, their voice distorted as they slid a pen across the table.   
Addison and Fumiko took the liberty of coming up with them before leaving the house to avoid confusion, because who in their right mind would use their real name while dabbling in illegality?  
Addison picked up the pen and wrote down her name as ‘Fire Fade’ after some Japanese mythology she read about. She also signed a professional looking contract about keeping a vow of silence about the auction with her pseudonym.   
And while she knew they couldn’t make her, she still had no intentions of running around loose-lipped about her whereabouts on this particular afternoon.   
“Your number will be 280,” the person behind the desk said, handing her a sign with that number on it, directing her to a certain cluster of seats. After Fumiko had signed in as well, they both walked towards a row of seats, sinking down into the padded chairs with open minds and wide eyes, unable to get enough of what was around them.   
After a few minutes, after Fumiko had made her way to the buffet table, promising to bring something back for her, a man, whom she guessed was a foot shorter than her, made his way onstage with a microphone, and before he even spoke he had Addisons undivided attention.   
The rhinestones on his elaborate purple suit glittered against the stage lights as he cleared his throat, causing people to turn their heads towards the stage.   
“The auction will start shortly in a few minutes, for those if you who have not signed in, please do so and find your seats. Thank you.”  
And with that, he disappeared behind the curtains.   
Looking around for Fumiko (she had gotten lost in the sea of black that was beginning to crowd around the buffet table), Addison felt a tap on her shoulder.   
Turning, she saw a hooded figure with aviator sunglasses that she despised and the same black mask that everyone wore. By the look of their broad shoulders, it was a guy.   
“First time here?” He asked, his voice husky and muffled. If this were any other place and he wernt disguised, she was sure some girls would’ve swooned, but Addison just brushed it off.   
“Is it that obvious?” She asked clearly, enunciating every word to avoid being misheard.   
“Maybe, but I was just asking because I’ve never seen you here before.”  
“How would you know?” She asked coyly, giving him a sidelong glance. “Everyone is wearing black.”  
“True.” He said, nodding. “But you’ve never sat next to me before. I’m always in the same seat for reason.”  
She raised her eyebrows at his comment, thinking about the flow and tide of people who must have come there regularly, about to tell him that his statement was wrong, until she caught onto what he was saying.   
He had been there before. Many times, as she understood it.   
“Well? How would you rate your overall experience at these events?” Addison asked.   
“Pretty good,” the stranger replied. “Although I usually wait till the last round of auctioning to participate. The products there are what I’m really here for.”   
“And what do they usually—“  
“Hey,” came Fumiko’s voice as she took the seat next to her, two plates of snacks in her hands. “Got you some coconut crisps,”  
Eagerly, she took one and pulled down her mask to stuff it in her mouth, savoring the sweet taste.   
She honestly didn’t know Japan had coconuts.   
The more you know.   
She turned back to the man next to her to continue their conversation, asking him about what he usually bought.   
“Oh, you’ll see if you stick around until the end. That’s when everyone gets rilled up.” He replied shrewdly.   
She tilted her head lightly in confusion, silently imploring him to continue as she munched in another crisp. “It’s the most controversial yet sought after items they auction here.”  
“It’s not exotic animals, is it?” She asked, gulping down the confection in her wariness.   
Aviator chuckled, or at least she thought he did. “No,” was all he said before the lights went down and the typical ambience of excited crowds came to an almost silence.   
“Good afternoon, non disclosed ladies, gentleman, and non binary genders,”  
Ah, that little man from before was back on stage, speaking to the crowd with prim, formal Japanese. “Today we we have a wonderful plethora of objects for you to choose from and bet your money on. Who will win? What will capture you fancy? It’s all here at today’s sell-off.”  
He stepped to the side and gestured to the center stage, where multiply things were brought out, from precious jems or stones like ivory, to birds and dogs, which she did not care to see. It was all very interesting, and she couldn’t help but feel relaxed in the lighting and formality of it all. And the food wasn’t bad at all, either.   
It was fun and interesting to say the least, but also long and tedious, and she could tell some of it had lost its luster for Fumiko as it dragged on.   
Until the little man came center stage again and a noticeable buzz settled over the audience like a blanket. “There’s an announcement, folks,” he said, whipping his meaty palm on his trousers. “Unfortunately, today, our best selling segment of the auction will not go on.”  
There was an assortment of grumbles and curses from the audience, which made the man grab a handkerchief from his inside pocket and mop at his shiny bald head. “Worry not. We are simply postponing this to our next auction to ensure maximum satisfaction from our loyal auctioneers. We promise, you’ll all love what we have in store. Return Sunday, everyone, and thank you for attendance.” With that, he walked backstage and the lights came on.   
She turned to Aviator. “Was that supposed to be what rilles everybody up?”  
“Come back next time and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”


	2. On the grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, its a pretty standard chapter of Addisons day to day life, that is, until she starts thinking of the auctions again...

Streatching out on her couch, Addison pushed her laptop away, the glare from the screen making her head hurt. She had just finished collecting emails from realtors from all over western Japan, looking for a date where she would snoop around the house to see if it was what she was looking for.

Expecting to access her 1 billon yen in about a week, she was trying to buy a few houses in Japan before the inflation set in, rendering all that money useless. She was also expecting to transfer half the funds to a bank account in America in little bits at a time under $10000, because she knew how the IRS rolled. She was trying to be smart with the money Kira granted her, making sure it didn’t go to waste.

She had also just gotten back from the dealership where, with her immaculate credit score, she was able to buy multiple cars. After dealing with all this financial talk for hours, she was really tired, but the satisfaction of buying new assets to add to her networth clung to her, and soon she was rushing to put makeup on so she could meet with her realtor over dinner to discuss buying options. 

Perfecting her eyeliner and puckering her lips to examine the nude lipstick she had chosen, she quickly swept her makeup into her bag and darted upstairs in her most-of-the-time-cozy-but-some of-the-time-cramped house, stepping into her bedroom and hunting for a decent dress to wear along with flats, because heels were a misogynist’s jab at women.

She already felt like her schedule was packed and stressful now that she had the extra worry of beating so many citizens to the punch of buying many homes before the stock market crashed.  
  
By the time she was fully clothed in a formatting black dress with wispy sleeves and black flats that literally went with anything, she was almost frantic trying to get out of her house to beat traffic, grabbing an over coat and her keys before quite literally running out the door.

Once she was in her car and relaxed enough to the local music, she mentally sighed as she navigate her way through the streets of Yokohama. It was going to be a long night.

Addison was right. She always was.

Even the morning after a very successful meeting with her realtor, she didn’t want to drag herself out of bed the next morning, even though she knew she’d be grumpy for the rest of the day if she got a late start. Groaning, she turned the alarm clock on her phone off and chucked it at the foot of her bed, where it fell off. She groaned again, more forceful this time, knowing that no one else would have to get it but her.

Rubbing her face, she realized with a curse that she didn’t wash off her makeup from the night prior. Gingerly getting up, she squinted at the sunlight streaming in from her window, wondering why it had to be so bright. She got up and went start to the coffee machine, brewing some and standing there like a zombie as the smell infiltrated her nostrils and gradually chased away the grogginess.

She felt like a 90’s computer booting up as she slowly awaited the growl of the coffee machine signaling everything as done and done. She couldn’t for the life of her shake the feeling of lead weights even as she waited to down the scalding coffee by putting it under her nose and inhaling the scent directly. God, this was the only way she was ever able to wake up.  
After about thirty minutes of literally just standing there and sniffing the scalding beverage as it cooled, she took a few tentative sips and made her way upstairs, going slowly as not to spill a drop of the dark nectar she held in her cup. Stepping onto the second floor of the house that also doubled as her room, she walked right over to her bathroom, set the mug down, and assessed herself in the mirror.

Eyes bleary, mascara clumping at the edges, marks from the pillow temporarily imprinted onto her cheek, but on the bright side the golden eyeshadow she had applied was still there. Maybe it was a bit over the top for a casual day at work, with sweeping eyeliner and prominent contours, giving her an extra dimension even is such a groggy state. Addison wanted to wash it off, splash water on her face, but she really didn’t want to reapply all that makeup that took her so long to do, so she just opted to fix her mascara, which took a few minutes because all she was doing was rinsing it off. After she finished, however, she retreated to her bed, where she fired up _1 Liter of Tears_ on her tv and let her morning slip by productively.

Well, somewhat productivity. For some god forsaken reason, she couldn’t stop thinking of the auction, and damnit, she wanted to know what the big thing that had everybody buzzing was. _But_ , she reminded herself calmly as she drummed her fingers impatiently on the glass desk in front of her, _in order for it to take the cake like everyone insinuated, it has to be very illegal._

Addison sighed, tapping her head. She needed to get her head out of the clouds to deal with the work in front of her; she didn’t have time to be thinking about auctions.

Addison worked at a massive design company in the city, who was paid by upcoming businesses to design things like logos or spokespersons illustrations, or maybe change their whole look in terms of imprint. They also did things like commissions for visor game developers, wich was why she was currently in a room full of dedicated people, quietly concentrating on their work, wich was made into backbreaking labor by the dumbasses that didn’t know exactly what they wanted in these designs.

It gave her a headache as she tried every tactic to squeeze more information out of them through email, rather than leaving her and her team with far too much wiggle room to mess up. She knew exactly how this would play out. They didn’t know for themselves what they wanted, so they’d keep the instructions vague and expect awe-inspiring, jaw dropping commissions to be delivered to their doorstep. Meanwhile, Addison and her team of illustrators, painters, and backround sketchers would space away endlessly, wondering if something was right or if it would fit the loose criteria all because the developers weren’t specific enough, so they’d all try their best, coming up with something that defiantly looked worthy of the title fantasy, and turn it over to their employers, eager for feedback. And they’d be displeased, sending an e-mail detailing everything they did wrong but not how to fix it or what they’d prefer instead, leaving everyone to play a half-baked guessing game in the arts, making everyone want to take a lighter and a can of kerosene to the studio as the developers berate them like they are children incapable of understanding what they specifically asked for even though they did no such thing.

As the deadline would grow nearer, the stress would begin to climb higher as everyone raced to do their job and do it well, turning in drafts that weren’t as good as the first ones but still good just days before, and the developers would struggle to make to their minds on wich ones to chose because they’ve _‘had second thoughts’._ In the end, after a lot of arguing over the phone, they would all just agree to take the first commissions because everyone just wanted their money and time and they would be grumbling, no doubt thinking that the company was incapable in their job, but ultimately coming back for more in a few months.

It made her not even want to do the starting sketches, but for how much money they offered it was begrudgingly worth it, even though she would be stressed every night of the month to come with no outlet, and her mind and body screaming for release.

 _Looks like I’ll have to pick up extra Thai Chi lessons,_ came her less than amused thought. She gently rubbed her face, the caress of her fingers on her cheek enough to remind her of the makeup that she had just touched up before leaving, and even though Addison never really cared about others opinion towards her own outward appearance, she definitely did.

Because after all, this wasn’t America.

Where it’s so diverse and morals are loose in a good way and everybody is accepted so long as they don’t do anything socially unacceptable. And even though somethings that were deemed as such back in America were crap, she had no idea if the social standards in Japan, in Yokohama in particular. And although she tried not to let this get the best of her, there were days she still worried. But wasn’t she always worried nowadays?

In fact, the only time her worries faded away to make way for interest was at the auction. And all this Kira business just added onto it all!

Now, not only did she have to worry about her own financial protection, but Japan’s economy! Surely people have heard of inflation before? Hadn’t they learned this from the continent of Africa, with their trillion dollar notes? Did the Japanese not teach about the history of Africa in their schools?? Why did nobody seem concerned in the slightest?

 _These things aren’t for you to worry about,_ she quipped.

 _I know,_ she growled. _First I have to deal with this imbecile and the oncoming stress of this set of drafts._

And she did.

Typing up and email that only thinly concealed the heavenly fire that was building within her by the hour, she suggested that they meet in a week in a half, when her team had come up with enough rough drafts to provide a concept so they could approve of what they liked and did not, comment on what they were looking for, and everyone could avoid what was sure to come. They had to.

For the sake of her waning sanity. For the sake of the tolerance for her team. They had to.

She sent it and decided to go on lunch break, opting to walk down the road in search of a ramen shop. Actually, she was craving spaghetti, or just anything greasy and American that didn’t count as fast food. But she also wanted it to be warm and filling, so she figured ramen was the closest to what she was looking for, even though it didn’t fit the criteria. Plus, ramen was cheap, always a plus. Just as she was walking out the doors in her comfortable slacks, the sun hitting her face, she heard someone calling her name.

“Ms. Eiko!” One of her coworkers, the only other girl on the team, came running up to her, her purse clinging to her arm. “Are you going out for lunch? Mind if I accompany you?”

She looked down at the girl. Cute, petite. Big brown eyes and long dark hair that reached the small of her back and an air of innocence that could convert the worst convict. But Addison also saw, she was smart, calculating, and sometimes even ruthless, a total package for some people.

Personally, she wasn’t into that sort of thing. But hey, Chouko Ayume got her work done with finesse and ease, and was a big help around the department, definitely earning her paycheck.

And for that, Addison nodded, a cordial smile plastered to her face. It only took a few minutes to walk to a popular ramen shop two blocks down from their building, and they both entered, enjoying the smell of homemade soup that water into each corner of the restaurant. The glass and chrome table tops have it a very modern feel, and she was able to comfortably slide into a booth (because she always preferred booths) and glance at the menu.

“So, how are things, Ms. Eiko? With the developers who want the commission?” Addison heaved a sigh and stretched her arms.

Explaining to her the situation (wich she made sure everyone on the team knew), she felt a new wave of repetitiveness was over her. Moving to cracking each and every one of her knuckles, Chouko looked sympathetic, sharing with her her annoyance.

“I just wish they could be more specific like the website states. Don’t they know how commissions work?”

“Obviously not,” Addison said with an eye roll befitting of an American. “And I detest how they have the gaul to talk to us like we’re the ones that don’t understand.”

“We’re literally the company they’re going to for concept designs and background designs, yet they treat us like we’re not doing our job when they don’t get their way. It’s very tiring and tedious.” She said, playing with some of her hair over her shoulder.

They both deflated a little, knowing exactly what the next month and a half would be like.

No real progress. The waiter came up and took their orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, im tired. Creativity, am I right? Thanks to those who actually read this, all 11 of y’all!


End file.
